


Confession - A Crimson Peak Love Letter

by the_haven_of_fiction



Category: Crimson Peak - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Crimson Peak, Drama, F/M, Gothic Romance, Romance, sir thomas sharpe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 11:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11103216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_haven_of_fiction/pseuds/the_haven_of_fiction
Summary: Sir Thomas Sharpe writes Edith a letter.  Based off of characters from the film Crimson Peak.





	Confession - A Crimson Peak Love Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing explicit, but contains references to the questionable relationship in the film.

My beloved Edith,

This is the first time I have put pen to paper with the knowledge that the object of my words will perhaps never read them.  To be absolutely forthcoming, this is in actuality the first time I have endeavored to produce such a letter.  The compulsion to do so is new and somewhat frightening for me. Epistolary skill is not something that I would be so bold as to claim; yet here I sit, the ink staining the paper, as the thoughts and feelings from mind and heart make their way through this body and exit my fingers.

It will be necessary for me to hide this letter or perhaps even destroy it for fear of discovery by one whose possession of all that I am, nay, all that I was, has begun to loose its grip since my eyes’ first glimpse of you.  How strange it is to suddenly come to the realization that what you have known is not the definitive of itself, that something you have not known previously does indeed exist.  To be aware of the restriction that you, for so many years, considered to be safety, to have that awareness roll over you like an unexpected storm, causing you to see the true parched state of the earth as it begins to receive the refreshing rains.  Oh, Edith, to know that I cannot share these thoughts with you!  I cannot thank my liberator because she must not know the original man who is undergoing such a metamorphosis.  I cannot thank my liberator because that knowledge might soil the fabric of her innocence, might give her just cause to leave me, might forever snuff the light that emanates from her when she turns her face towards me; and I would surely be unable to survive without that light leading me, I would surely return to the original man and be truly forever lost.

My life has altered from a fear of discovery by others about a connection that our society would abhor and shun to a fear of discovery by one person.  One person.  This one person, you, has already shown me in a short amount of time the gossamer thread between the love that destroys and the love that liberates, the love that consumes and the love that creates.  Now, my darling, please do not assume that I blame her.  I do not.  I know her motivation was protection.  I now know, because of you, how overwhelming this desire to protect can be.  I did not understand this with any of the others, although I fully admit my complicity in their demise.  For those crimes, I am guilty.  I do not seek to categorize myself as being without free will in those instances.  They will forever haunt me, they will be the chains I cannot escape, even though my liberator is present with me.  The guilt, my sweet wife, the guilt is what I must learn to live with.

But I must do it. Because I also have you to live with. I have you to protect.  I must find a way.  I must.  I am the protector now.  I must be the protector.  Because I need you.  I knew I needed you from that first day.  I knew I needed you as the days progressed.  I have a box of cherished memories: when we danced, when we walked in the park.  You showed me so many things in those days, but perhaps the most illuminating was witnessing your grief over the loss of your father.

I swear, my beautiful Edith, I swear I did not know.  It is another thing I cannot share with you, no matter how strongly my heart aches to tell you.  Never. Never would I have been party to such a cause of agony for you.  I stood with you in that cold, cold room and watched you.  While I am not a stranger to death, I have much less experience with grief.  The one death that incited such grief, I cannot even imagine sharing with you. But that grief was not guiltless. What I saw from you was pure, honest grief.  Grief over the loss of one you loved, in whose death you were not complicit. Grief that matched the strength and purity of the love you had for him.  As I watched such grief for the first time, I knew. I knew that I needed you in my life. I suppose it comes from a place of selfishness and for that, I feel I must repent.  But I can not repent for the pleasure of being your comforter.  However selfish it may sound, I can not regret the deception that led me to such a privilege.  To feel you turn to me, to feel you cling to me, to feel you shudder in my arms, to be the recipient of such a gift.  

And my sweet wife, in a different context, from one of grief to one of happiness, to feel those same actions from you last night.  I know I will never be able to fully describe to you what it meant for me.  This is by far the most dreadful of all, darling, this necessary silence.   I dare not tell you that it was the first time.  It was the first time I shared the act of love with someone without the fear of concealment, without the sense of it being forbidden.  I reveled in it, in the intoxicating aroma of roses that grew stronger as you so willingly exposed yourself to me, as the expanse of pale flushed skin was offered to me, as the lace and satin fell away to reveal the true treasure underneath.  

A complete rising and setting of the sun has not yet occurred since those moments, yet I find myself nearly unable to put the vision from my mind.  I see your face filled with things I can not name, although they are the things I was experiencing as well.  I see your plump lips, moist from our kisses, curved into a smile.  I see the pale lashes fluttering over the shining jewels of your eyes as I explore your body.  I hear the gasps of surprise that come from your mouth and the moans of bliss that follow when we are finally joined.  I feel your small eager hands gripping me, urging me toward something when I am straining to delay it, a futile attempt to suspend time in that shared paradise.

I knew how the body can experience pleasure, but last night, I learned how transcendent it is when the pleasure of the body is combined with the joy of the soul.  Surely this is it, this is what a true union is.  This is what freedom is.   And I must protect it.  I must protect you, not at the cost of other lives, but at the cost of  my own.  That is what love is.

I’ve said too much, I know. I hear the rustle of skirts approaching and must hide this confession for now.  To end, my darling –

I love you,

Thomas


End file.
